


In My End is My Beginning

by JeniceM



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Badass Dis, Bilbo is more special than anyone realized, Bilbo's fairy blood, Character Death Fix, Gen, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Mixed Canon, Plot Driven, So Much Friendship, headcanons abound, lots of familial relationships, lots of feels, magic and mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-15 16:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1311565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeniceM/pseuds/JeniceM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BOFA SPOILERS</p><p>After the battle of five armies, Thorin, Fili, and Kili are all discovered dead. However the anguish and heartbreak that accompany such discoveries are tempered by hope when it is found that their bodies remain unchanged as each day passes, as if frozen in time.</p><p>The Company has no idea what they're doing, but if there is a chance at all, they will do their best to bring them back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooooo, this idea has sat in the back of my head ever since I finished reading the Hobbit, just after seeing the first movie, I wrote the preface a long time ago but just recently came back to the story to continue writing. I have a lot of plans for this thing and if all goes well it will be the most epic thing I have ever written....
> 
> I'll be posting the first chapter tomorrow so no worries on a long wait :)
> 
> fair warning I mix book and movie canon and head canon pretty liberally.

***

It was a quiet day on their journey, one of the few, where all seemed relatively at peace, having had enough to eat, a dry place to sleep and decent weather in the day. Bilbo was quite enjoying the sunshine from atop his pony when he caught a snippet of the slightly unhappy sounding conversation happening between Balin and Dwalin, a little ahead of him in the lineup.

“No, no, I’m telling you that makes him our great great nephew, not our cousin!” Balin said with no small amount of irritation. “It isn't that difficult Dwalin.”

“I still think you’re wrong, that dwarf is older than me! He is not my nephew.” Balin all but sputtered in return, “That doesn't matter! The age has no affect on the relation, you halfwit.”

“Well, we’re so distantly related I don’t see how it matters.”

“It matters.” At this point, the rest of the company had fallen silent and was listening in amusement. Bilbo distinctly heard a snicker from either Fili or Kili from somewhere behind him and was sporting a smirk himself when Bofur decided to break the slightly moody quiet that had fallen between the brothers. 

“So Bilbo, I hear Hobbits have many relations, you must have some complicated family trees as well.” Bilbo could only laugh in response.

“You have no idea…Hobbit’s have a great many children much of the time and it can indeed make things rather confusing if not complicated. I believe I have three young cousins named Paladina, but two of them call me uncle since I’m a great many years older than them and they’re both from the same paternal line so I always end up referring to them as Paladina-who-wears-skirts and Paladina-who –often-wears-trousers….even when they’re together. ”

Bofur gave a laugh and many of the dwarves looked on with raised eyebrows.

“That sounds like a nightmare.” Fili said, somewhat under his breath, quickly followed with a not-quite-as-understated comment of “I don’t think I could stand to have that many relatives!” From his younger brother. “It’s bad enough with as many as we have.” Bilbo chuckled at that.

“There does tend to be a lot of, everyone in everyone else’s business. The Bagginses especially. They’re all very concerned with being respectable, and if they see or hear anything about you that sounds out of the ordinary they are quite likely to titter on about it until the cows come home. Of course no one will ask you about it or try to clear up the mess-” At this point Bilbo stopped himself and took a slow calming breath, as he felt a slight pounding start in his ears.

“Have a bit of a history with them then?” Bofur asked with a knowing smirk.

“Oh a bit.”

“Well what about the other side of your family?” Bilbo glanced up and saw the ever present curious expression of Ori staring back at him from two ponies ahead and smiled.

“The Tooks, well, they are quite different. Very different in fact. One of the most wild Hobbit family lines there is.”

“Wild?” Nori turned in his saddle. “Hobbits?”

“Oh quite. One of my uncles once knocked a goblin’s head clean off with a club.”

“Truly?” Ori squeaked. 

“Oh yes, my own mother even had quite a few adventures. That’s how she met Gandalf.”

“So what sets these Tooks so far apart from the other Hobbits?” Bilbo tried not to look too surprised when Thorin’s voice floated back to him. He didn’t think the Dwarf was listening.

“Oh well…a few of the other clans have their theories but the Tooks themselves speak of fairy blood somewhere far back in the line.”

“Fairies? Really? Is that… _can_ that be true?” Kili asked this time.

“Oh I didn’t used to think so…”

“But you do now?”

“Well…there are certain things about the Tooks…they are even better at remaining unseen than other hobbits. They often seem to have rather good luck and well, if you get on the bad side of one…bad things always seem to happen of their own accord…Once after my cousin Lobelia spread a rumor about my mother doing…well…unmentionable things on one of her past adventures, she walked into her larder the very next day and found it infested with rats. Had to throw the whole lot of it out.”

“That’s all very interesting laddie but a bit circumstantial.” Bilbo nodded at Balin in agreement.

“That’s true, and I’m sure an awful lot of what’s attributed to our fairy ancestors has absolutely nothing to do with them…but some things…some things there’s just no other explanation for.” The hobbits voice had gone hushed and the dwarves around him exchanged looks of varying curiosity and hesitance. 

“And what might those things be?” Dwalin finally asked after an extended silence, seemingly startling their burglar out of his own thoughts.

“Oh, well…it’s…well there’s an old legend in the Took family…of a fairy mother and her child…You see…Oh I’ll butcher it if I try to tell it…”

“Oh come Bilbo, we love a good story.” Fili spoke up from the back of the line.

“Well...alright I’ll try. You see, there once was a young fairy mother whose daughter was lost to a great winter, at a very young age. Everyone was very distraught at the loss of such a young life, but none so much as the mother.”

The entire company settled into silence, quite immediately. Bilbo probably should have guessed with how it starts. Children were precious to dwarves, as they were to hobbits as well! But it was somehow different in a race that bore few and far between. The death of a single child to them was as great a tragedy as there ever could be. 

Of course Bilbo didn't know much about their thoughts on women, only that they didn't speak much of them but when they did, it always seemed to be with quiet reverence. He felt suddenly self conscious and cleared his throat. 

“As it goes with fairies, children of the forest as they are, they were to lay the child out on the forest floor, and keep watch over her until the trees gathered back their young daughter.

“Only the trees did not take her. Day after day she would remain unchanged by nature, looking as though she was merely sleeping. The fairies urged the mother to let her daughter go, as this wasn't an uncommon thing among their kind. Fairies hold bonds unlike most other races, clinging to a part of each other’s spirits in an almost physical way. Holding on so tight at times that even in death the spirit will still cling by a thread to the body it would otherwise leave, held fast in the grip of another.

“But the mother refused, so engulfed in her pain at losing her daughter she could not let go. Even as the other’s left she would remain, gazing on the child’s face each day and wishing and hoping with all her soul to have her back. Then at night, she would dream of her daughter, lost in the forest and alone, trying to find her way home. She soon found that changed however, where she had once dreamed of her daughter, as if from above, she suddenly found herself lost in the same forest, quite apart from the young girl but longing to find her, to reach her. Each night she would venture deeper into the dark trees, feeling her daughters presence just out of reach, coming across a great many obstacles but always managing to get through, by sheer force of will, by longing and love. She would wake up in exhaustion and fight through the day, only waiting until nightfall when she could continue her search.

“She felt herself coming closer and closer to the girl but somehow could not find her, could never reach her, she felt as though she was traveling in circles for days when it finally came upon her that she recognized the forest she was in. It was just as their home had been before the great winter had passed and she suddenly knew without a doubt just where to find her. For when she was frightened, there was a certain small tree she chose as her hiding place, with roots lifted just so, where only she could fit, and there the mother found her child, frightened and alone but waiting, hiding away from the dangers of the forest that tried to take her away and together they found their way back, back the way the mother had come in search of her daughter until one morning she awoke, and so did the young girl.

“And so she took her in her arms and carried her back to their home, where the others looked on in astonishment. Fairies are a magical folk and so they asked her ‘what magic is this? What have you done that no other could do before?’ and she told them ‘I found her in a dream, and I brought her back with me.’” There was an eerie silence that followed until Bilbo cleared his throat once more and muttered, “And um…and that’s the end.”

There was a solemness that had fallen on the group and Bilbo quietly regretted telling the tale, even with the happy ending it was a bit morbid. 

“That is quite a tale Bilbo.” Bofur offered quietly.

And then from up ahead Thorin spoke once more, turning on his mount to view the hobbit’s face. “That it is, but what about it, may I ask, has you convinced that fairy blood does indeed run through your veins?” Bilbo blinked back at him for a moment and glanced down at his own saddle, taking a deep breath.

“That…well that is another tale…perhaps another time I’ll tell you.” Where either Fili or Kili, or perhaps even Ori, would have asked him to tell it right then, they remained silent in the wake of the very serious and somewhat melancholy way he spoke.

***

Bilbo had known loss in his life. Death was not an uncommon thing in any place, and when you live to be a certain age you are bound to come in contact with it. However, never had he seen it in such magnitude, and so very bloody.

He struggled to catch his breath as he sat on the stone steps, leading into Erebor’s walls. His ears were ringing and he felt very much like he might throw up. All members of the company were accounted for but for three. Three very important dwarves whom Bilbo could see in his minds eye, laid out and bloody, unmoving and unfeeling. Try as he might to blink the images away, they remained. He had been searching with the others through the battlefield, looking for any sign of the three but found little. When he had stumbled over what he thought was a very large rock and instead found it to be the head of an elf he had tried to stifle the bile rising in his throat but couldn't quite manage it and vomited all over the ground. A rough calloused hand had then picked him up by the back of his shirt and set him on his feet. “Why don’t you go wait with the healers, Bilbo?” Dwalin had said, “We’ll be sure to fetch you as soon as we find them.” Bilbo had quickly agreed, nodding and getting a solid slap on the back in return before Dwalin had turned around and continued on his way. 

At the time he had thought anything would be better than looking through blood and guts for what might be his friends but the healing tents had been even worse, overrun with wailing and crying out, from the patients as well as their relatives and Bilbo had quickly retreated to the only out of the way, relatively quiet place he could find. He tried to inform Oin where he would be but the older Dwarf was so busy (and so deaf) he doubted he had heard. 

Though marginally better than sifting through corpses, the waiting was agonizing and Bilbo ached for something to do. Anything to keep him from the bloody images that swam in his mind. He was at a loss and simply hung his head in his hands and tried to breathe and ignore the stench of death that permeated the air. He kept telling himself things would be fine. They would find them, Thorin would be ok and even if he still hated him, it would be alright. Everything would be alright as long as Thorin and his nephews were ok.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and his nephews are found and all is not quite normal...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning ahead of time, this chapter is extremely depressing...I really wasn't planning on it being so, but that's what happened.

It was almost an entire day before Thorin was found, half buried underneath a dead warg with its teeth still plunged deeply into his shoulder. He breathed, but barely, just long enough to tell Bilbo he was sorry and so many more words that the little Hobbit could barely bring himself to listen to, knowing his friend’s fate. It was with bitter tears he met the others outside Thorin’s chambers, after his last breath. He wept as hard as he could remember and at least was not alone in it, none of them able to keep their grief in check. Bilbo did not know if he could bear this. Making such a hard won friend and losing him so suddenly just as they accomplished their goal.

It was not fair, it was inhuman that they had come so far, that Thorin had done so much to give his people such a gift and he of all of them was lost to it. Bilbo thought of all the times he had wanted to turn back and had not for the shear desire to prove that hard headed dwarf wrong. He thought of the times that Thorin had blustered at him when he had put himself in danger and how irritated it had made him until he realized Thorin was worried about him, just as he worried about the others. And he remembered oh so dearly being commended for his bravery and being hugged for goodness sake, by the gruffest and grumpiest being he had ever met. 

Even after all that he never thought he would believe Thorin was the soft hearted dwarf his nephews painted him to be. 

That is until the night they had all been frightened out of their wits when one of the ponies had fallen in a river and the boys had close to drown in an attempt to save their supplies. They were barely moving when they had been dragged back on shore but Bilbo’s worry was all but forgotten when he witnessed the grumbling dwarf shake like a leaf as he embraced both sopping lads with no care for who was watching, speaking soft and fervent in the dwarven language Bilbo did not know. Though he did not think he needed to understand the words to gather their meaning. 

He had learned so much about the dwarf on their journey, but he knew now he would never truly know Thorin as he might have, given more time.

It just was not _fair._

***

They could not bury Thorin until his nephews were found, for if they were alive, they should be there for the funeral. And if they were not, then they would be entombed together, to spend the rest of eternity at their king’s- at their uncle’s side. And so the search would continue, with less vigor, less hope, and entirely less cheer as each day passed. Balin and Dwalin stuck together, as did most of them, never wanting to be apart from their kin for longer than necessary after such events. Neither of them knew what to do with themselves, losing a best friend and something akin to a son. Thorin had always been there. Even when Dwalin had been a child and Thorin the same, they had protected each other as brothers. Always standing together in the face of hardship even if it was nothing more than an overbearing older brother or the needy cloying of younger siblings. And even more so when the dragon had taken their home and he was shouldered with every responsibility he had never cared to take on, he had still spent so many hours with Dwalin, as he grieved for the loss of his mother.

Balin too remembered well the young lad who had asked him for help with his letters when their teacher had scolded him for falling behind. And the lad who had stood up under the weight of loss and led his people when no one else would do so, standing brave before them but hesitating and nervous before Balin, always asking his advice, always second guessing his decisions. It seemed like just yesterday that he was explaining the trade agreement the men of the Blue Mountains had presented to the Dwarves of Erebor to a young Thorin, brows drawn together in concentration as he asked the older dwarf to repeat himself once again, in laymen’s terms.

There were long silences between the brothers then, permeated with many sighs and shaken heads. They could not let themselves break, not if the boys were still out there. With their uncle gone, they would need them both. So they searched with the others in a numb state, their victory feeling nothing more than hollow in their chests. It reminded them both viciously of their days after Moria.

***

Nori felt more than sadness at Thorin’s death, he felt anger. Furious with the universe for letting such a thing happen. For allowing such a dwarf to leave its inhabitants when they all still had so much to give back to him. He had been more than just a leader to their people to Nori. He had personally seen to getting him apprenticeships he never stuck with as a lad. Was the first grown dwarf to ever tell him he could be good at anything he stuck to. Even if it was not true, it was what his younger self had needed to hear so badly at the time. He had claimed him kin when his own father had not.

Nori was angry, because if Thorin died, he could never repay the debt he had been waiting to for so long.

***

Bilbo was left to himself, no longer attempting to assist in the search after being gainsaid by nearly half the company to rest, after the blow to his head they didn't want him wandering off and getting lost somewhere. Of course he knew it was more than likely because they thought him soft and didn’t want him to see more of the battlefield than need be. 

He wanted to help find the boys, but there was no fight left in him with such a weight in his chest and such a pounding in his head. Nor did he desire to look upon more violence. Not when his friend was dead. Not when those two sweet boys who reminded him so much of his younger cousins had more than likely joined him. He didn’t think he would want to look upon their faces if they had died, preferring to remember them in life, always laughing, always smiling. 

And so he spent his time idling outside the room where Thorin slept on, keeping vigil at night in case perhaps he woke, though it was only a passing fantasy. Other times he hovered outside the healing tents, which still over flowed with injured, hoping to be there if the boys were brought back alive. But it was three more days until Fili was found, dead, black and red blood matting his hair together in knots, and covering every surface of himself it seemed. A number of Orcish arrows stuck out from his person, buried in his leg, his shoulder, three in his stomach, with a knife wound across the side of his face. His swords were found not far away, and had to be pulled from the carcasses of two Orcs speared together like meat on a kabob. There was no doubt he had fought with all his heart and every last ounce of energy he possessed, but in such a battle luck seemed to be the only thing that saved most of them. And Durin’s line was never known for being lucky. 

He was carried back to the castle by Bofur, who shook his head and did nothing to stop the flow of tears streaming down his face when he saw the Hobbit rushing down the steps to meet him only to stop in his tracks with a look of great pain flashing across his round face. 

“Oh no, no, no, no, _no _.” It sounded like the whine of petulant child in Bilbo’s ears and he buried his face in his hands and tried to breathe as Bofur marched past him, decidedly not looking upon the dead prince. Bilbo concentrated, trying his best to remember the night that Fili had asked him of his homeland, for tales of the shire. And how he had listened so thoughtfully and laughed at all the funny bits. And he thought of one of the many nights towards the beginning of their journey that Thorin had snapped at him when not an hour later Fili had sat down beside him and told him stories of the king when he and Kili were children. Of how he watched over them as a father would and how he used to play with them, letting them ride around on his shoulders while he neighed like a pony and made a right fool of himself.__

He thought it might help, but the tears only seemed to come faster.

***

Bofur wondered how there could be tears left to fall but they always came, never deserting him even when his cheeks were dry and raw. He wanted nothing more than to see the beaming smile of the little boy who, even when presented with much nicer and more newly made toys by himself and his cousin alike, had held one of Bofur’s very first finished carvings, complete with gouges on every surface and a barely recognizable form, as if it were made of gold. 

***

Dori knew most everyone thought he came on this quest simply to watch over his younger brothers. That he was fussy and overbearing and not much fun. And perhaps they were right on most counts but his younger brothers were not the only ones who needed watching out for on such a dangerous journey. And he was not about to let two reckless and hardheaded brothers such as Fili and Kili go off on an adventure when their uncle was to be the leader. Dori knew that Thorin would have to be concerned with the quest before making sure his nephews were well fed and clothed. That he would be distracted from his kin by a large degree unless something drastic happened. He knew he could not constantly keep an eye on them and so Dori figured he could. 

What was a little more fussing when it really came down to it? 

He had not expected the confused smiles he would get for folding their bedrolls in the mornings, or the carefully suppressed laughs when he made a point of dishing them and Ori more food than the others, the polite and honest thanks he received for mending their clothes. He had been entirely taken off guard when one morning he was presented with a rather poorly carved pipe and some pipeweed. Being told they noticed he had lost his, and sure, neither of them was very good at carving and it wasn’t exactly a pretty thing, but it would do its job and they hoped he liked it, what with all he was always doing they could at least give something in return.

He knew the princes were never spoiled as lads, and he had known that Ori liked them both while he didn’t always get on with many dwarrows. But he hadn’t expected…he simply hadn’t expected to get so attached. It was after this that any real hope was lost, by Dori and many of the others. For surely, even without knowing his brother’s fate, one could not survive while the other perished.

***

Bilbo did his best not to create more despair where there was already plenty and kept himself busy with Bombur after that. Helping prepare food and bringing tea to their companions who needed the rest most. It was something he found he was better at than many dwarves and he found Bombur good company in grief, they could work side by side quietly and comfortably without too many words. But when one let out a breath between a sigh and a sob, the other would pause and come sit. And sometimes that’s all they would do, just sit in each other’s company and stare into the middle distance, seeing things far away. While other times they would talk, about the boys, about Thorin, reminiscing in good memories of both and they would cry or they would talk about nothing in particular. 

It was this job that had him meeting many dwarves he had never before seen and catching snippets of whispered conversations between waylaid warriors and the injured who had spent time in Oin’s healing tent. He tried his best to ignore it, ignore all of the whispers that stopped as soon as he was noticed and the incredulous looks that accompanied their conversations. But no matter how he tried he was left feeling panicked and out of breath, with a cold hard stone weighing in his stomach. 

Oin was an almost impossible dwarf to find if you were uninjured, and worked more tirelessly than all of them combined in the aftermath of the battle. There was very little that could make him pause in his work, littler still that had him stopping in his tracks to look at something again. But that is exactly what happened when he brought young Fili into his Uncle’s chamber. Where he had braced himself for the smell of death and decay, for the sight of his once beloved king succumbing to nature, he found none of those things. Thorin remained…as he had on the day of his death. Placing Fili on the cot next to the King’s he quickly checked the wounds on his shoulder and found them unchanged. Utterly confused he held his hand over the dwarf’s mouth. There was no breath. Then he put his finger to his throat.

No pulse. 

What was going on?

He tried to speak of it quietly with an elf healer one day but whenever a dwarf spoke to an elf all seemed to have open ears. The elf only looked at him rather gently, with the skeptical but soft expression you hold for grieving ones spouting nonsense. Of course he insisted it was true, leading the taller man through more untraveled corridors towards the inner room where Thorin and his first heir resided. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, leaving room for the elf to follow, still flabbergasted by the lack of change in either of them. 

“Do they not appear as if asleep?” He spoke almost to himself but the elf heard clearly. His long dark hair fell forward as he leaned over the king, placing a pale and delicate looking hand on his chin. Oin watched him closely and did not miss the crease forming between his eyebrows. 

“He does indeed…but I could not tell you how or why, for he is truly dead.” Oin swallowed harshly and nodded in response. He knew. He knew the king was dead but perhaps…perhaps this odd turn of events meant something could be done? Surely it was not nothing. Even Fili was perfectly preserved as he had been. Looking pale and rather frightening with the slash across his cheek, but it did not bleed nor did it close up nor did his skin gain the shiny, bloated quality of the many days dead. They both seemed frozen in time and Oin had an unshakable suspicion that Kili would be the same when they found him.

He hated to think it but he knew kili was long dead by then, even if he wasn’t before, so long alone on the empty battlefield, he would have succumbed to any wounds by then. 

“I will speak to my fellow healers, and see if they have seen anything like this before.” The elf looked up at him with serious eyes as he drew back from the King and his first heir who he had also inspected carefully. Oin nodded in response, at a loss for words and more than likely unable to speak even if he found them. When the elf left the room, Oin stayed behind, taking a seat on the stone floor between the two beds. He should certainly be getting back to the healing tents, seeing to injured and checking on his established patients. But God if he wasn’t so tired. He was losing his clinical distance, his decidedly impersonal attitude. He could only keep it for so long when some of his most precious patients continued to come to him entirely beyond his care.

He reached up a hand and gripped the edge of Fili’s sleeve, mind grasping at straws, trying to figure a reason for this strange turn of events. It had to mean something. Nature did not simply stop its course for royalty. All were equal in death after all. 

***

It was four more days until Kili was discovered, after many had begun to wonder if they would find him at all. That much time out in the open, in the rain, in the sun, vultures in the sky…most dead would be unrecognizable by then. But they were steadfast, beginning to take shifts, half of them searching while the other half rested, never stopping until night fall. It was Bifur of all people who brought the lad back. The sun was just setting as the other’s gathered back at the mountain, frowning and shaking their heads at their failure once again, when Bifur was spotted some distance away, walking slowly with a heavy burden in his arms. 

Ori was the first to see and rushed out to meet him, but Bifur only shook his head mutely, a flat face and shaking hands still wrapped around the lads legs. There was a gaping wound in his chest, where a spear had found its mark, and blood caked and dried down his chin. Bifur cradled him like one of his own lost children, aching and numb at once at the thought of losing such a sweet soul at such a young age. He had been one of the only children in the Ered Luin who hadn’t been afraid of him. Eyes bright and concentrating as he stumbled through his first sign in Iglishmék, telling him Hello, with small and graceless hands but a smile a mile wide. He had learned later from Bofur how Kili had begged his cousin to teach him the signs that Bifur was always using, so that he could talk to the older dwarf on his own. 

He wasn’t sure he had ever smiled as wide as he did the next time he had seen the lad, and he had signed “How are you?”. 

***

Ori put a hand to his mouth, tears welling in his eyes at the sight of his close friend. They had been friends before the journey ever began, but after their quest Ori felt he knew him like another brother, he had felt similarly about Fili, them all being around the same age, related if distantly. He remembered well all their shared meals, the times Fili had given up part of his share of dinner for Ori, when Kili had praised his drawings like no other, always requesting things he might give their mother when the journey was done. He still had all of the sketches tucked away in his notebook. Of the lads together, of them with Thorin, of Thorin sleeping with his mouth open even. He had been embarrassed and slightly flustered at drawing that one, afraid that Thorin would not be so happy about it but Kili had laughed so hard and smiled so much at the thought of giving it to Dis when she met them in Erebor that Ori had done as he was asked. He would have to give them to her on his own now.

No Fili or Kili to explain them with a smirk. Poor Dis. Oh poor Dis, Ori thought. Left just with him and his bumbling, graceless words. Perhaps he could write her something to go with the drawings, he was always better with writing his thoughts than speaking them.

***

Bombur cooked like there was no tomorrow. Like nothing in any larder in the world could fill his stomach. It was all he could manage to accomplish, all he could think about that wasn’t a picture of a young dead Kili, blood all over himself, lifeless and still as stone. He was so young, and so special. Him and Fili both. He remembered well a day many years past when he had fallen into a melancholic state as he was sometimes apt to do, getting down on himself about various things. Most everyone would step around him, let him have his little sulk and he would bring himself out of it. He always did eventually. He’d heard friends speak of it when they thought he wouldn’t hear. Soft Bombur, so sensitive, you’d think with all that extra padding he’d have a thicker skin!

Some friends they were. The same friends who laughed at his cooking and called him lazy at every turn of the hour. A queer one was he, apparently. Bombur had stood in the back doorway of the tavern he cooked for, cleaning the last of his dishes. He had jumped and nearly thrown the pot and ladle in his hands when a voice spoke from around the corner.

“Not so queer as the young prince who sports a bow and arrows and leaves his hair unbraided, bounding through the forests and trees like an Elf whenever he has the chance.” The voice was unfamiliar and Bombur suddenly straightened, clearing his throat and sputtering a bit in his haste to rebut such a nasty thing. Of course he lost his chance as a laughing Kili rounded the corner to meet him. Pitching his voice low again, “No one could be as queer as he.” The lad pressed a hand to his chest in exaggerated honesty, feigning horror, before breaking out in giggles again, coming to stand in the shadow of the door by the much larger dwarf. “Thin as a waif that one, and no beard to speak of, just isn’t natural!” 

Bombur blinked for a moment before knocking the young dwarf in the back of the head with his ladle, grumbling about _‘such nonsense’_ and _‘don’t be listening to such refuse’._ Kili only laughed and rubbed the back of his head, grasping his bow and giving Bombur a similar, but much gentler knock to his skull.

“Same to you,” he had said. 

***

Gloin was a warrior in spirit and a loving father at heart and nothing could be a greater tragedy than the loss of two good lads. He could only be grateful for Thorin that he passed on with them, for surely the pain would have taken him regardless. 

There was little the red bearded dwarf could find to make himself useful with and in no time he longed for teeth to knock in and legs to break. Something to throw an axe at, at least. Anything to stop the aching in his throat at the prospect of breaking the news to his son. The breathtaking relief that he hadn’t brought him along was enough to make him sob in guilt. Which he had a time or two already. He remembered well grumbling to himself within hearing distance of anyone who might care to listen that the lads were old enough to be making their own decisions. Old enough to earn their mettle as warriors, which he supposed they had.

They had shown such maturity, he remembered, on the day they had been told they could come along. Gimli had been pouting, though trying his best to hide it. They’d walked him home from training, as they sometimes did, leaving him at the door with a last comment Gloin had happened to overhear.

“Don’t go thinking you’ll be having it easy with all of us gone Gimli.” Kili had said, his older brother quick to jump in.

“Certainly not, with what a hole such dwarves will be leaving you’ll have quite the task on your hands to fill it. But I don’t imagine we could be leaving the place in better hands.” 

“No I don’t think so.” Gimli had grumbled good naturedly back at them and suddenly seemed to be in much higher spirits, asking question after question about the other dwarves and what important tasks might be being abandoned when they left.

They were such good lads. 

It was enough to make him lay down his axe for good, never wishing to see such things again. 

***

Bilbo tried not think it, he truly did, but the day they brought back Kili he had wondered to himself that perhaps things would have been better had the Dwarves simply stayed away from Erebor, that they might have left him alone in his hobbit hole to live to a ripe old age and never grow out of his fussy ways and keep all of his preposterous views of propriety. He would gladly sacrifice his own personal growth if it meant that Kili could once again laugh with his brother and uncle. That he might jokingly punch Ori in the arm and pretend to hurt his hand. 

As it was now, he would never be teasingly called by Boggins again. Nor taught to handle a bow as he had promised to teach the hobbit as soon as they could get him one in his own size when he had expressed his interest in passing. 

He thought he would willingly go back to being grumpy old Bilbo Baggins of Bag End if it meant smiles might once again grace three dwarven faces even if it meant he would never meet them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah sorry for all the angst....I wanted to establish how much Thorin, Fili and Kili meant to the rest of them....I tried to be relatively balanced about how many of the company contemplated each of them but I fear I had more of them thinking on Fili and Kili than Thorin...Ah well it will all balance out eventually.
> 
> Also you may have noticed I mention a couple of instances that are not explained, they will more than likely be explored in the future of this fic.
> 
> I am going to try my hardest to keep to a once a week update schedule but it may be difficult. I'm a bit slow with writing, but I try! Please let me know what you think and thank you to everyone who leaves kudos and comments!


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oin gets a second opinion and everyone is confused.

***

Oin stood at the head of three cots, all occupied by the bodies of his king and two princes. They looked more peaceful now, no longer stained with blood and gore, their hair neat and adorned with care, their clothing clean and as closely fitting to royalty as could be found at such times. They were as still and cold as stone, pale as the moon itself. And yet their deaths had left their bodies, as if unwanted. Nature did not continue its course as it always had before, and Oin found his breath tight in his chest when he walked out of the chamber to find the Elf healer from before.

Perhaps he should even request the opinion of Thranduil, he had heard him to be an exceptional healer in the past…of course Thorin would probably be displeased but…Oin wasn’t sure he much cared at that point. Gandalf may have a bit of knowledge in these things as well, a wizard after all, perhaps it was some kind of magic. He did his best to keep the whole thing quiet, as while some, himself included, might see it as some sort of miracle, a sign of hope still lasting, others would say it unnatural and a bad omen that the earth seemed to refuse them. He did not tell the company any of what was happening either, as he did not want to excite them needlessly. But secrets never were very good at keeping themselves so.

Thranduil was an easy elf to find but a very difficult one to actually speak with, still busy with his own affairs, making sure his people were cared for as well as checking in on the men who had no true leader to speak of beyond Bard who seemed rather reluctant to claim the job. Even if he did a vast majority of the work.

Oin was not one to make bribes but found the most efficient way to gain this important audience was to offer a small sum of gold to the elf currently guarding the entrance to the royal tent. Elves may not have loved gold as dwarves did but they were not immune to its charms. Especially not in light of their most recent circumstances. His coin was taken by slightly hesitant hands and the slender man…or woman, it was hard to tell at times, entered the tent with a determined stride. Oin thought he heard Sindarin though even if it were Westron his hearing was not good enough to make any of it out. Thankfully he didn’t have to wait long before the well paid elf returned to his…their place outside the tent and told him the king would see him. 

Oin squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, preparing to make a general fool of himself in front of the king, and strode inside with purpose.

He found the regal elf sitting at a desk sat in the center of the large tent, where it came from was anyone’s guess, with a weary expression, chin resting on his left hand. The old dwarf was none too happy to see Bard standing to the side, a neutral expression on his face. 

“Master Oin,” He said smoothly, inclining his head.

“King Thranduil,” The dwarf gave a low bow in return.

“What, may I ask, is so urgent?” At this Oin hesitated, taking a short step forward and clearing his throat, shooting a glance at Bard. He really wished the man was not there, but could think of no way to express this without causing undue offence that had already been given many times over in recent days.

“It is…that is…” Thranduil slowly straightened in his seat, looking more attentive and a little less patient.

“I would be grateful to have an answer at some point.” The healer did his best not to let himself get too red in the face at the elf, who seemed to be being difficult for the fun of it. He did need his help in the end and while he had hoped Thranduil might get the hint that he was uncomfortable with the bowman and ask him to step out, he was not doing so and more than likely would not.

“Yes yes…” he sighed and wrung his hands together. “I am sorry to bother you when you are no doubt very busy, it is simply…I came to request your specific talents…and knowledge, in a rather unusual situation.” The king raised his eyebrows at this, making no other move. Oin huffed but plowed on, “It is Thorin and his nephews, you see…”

Both Thranduil and Bard seemed to straighten a bit at this, the bowman looking slightly uncomfortable, and where the king may be feeling similarly, the dwarf wondered if he had ever appeared so in his life. It had been close to ten days since Thorin had died and word had spread quickly of his regret for his actions, but that did not mean all was forgiven and Oin began to wonder if he had made the wrong decision, coming to the elf king for help.

“Then the younger one…” the old dwarf blinked in surprise at the strained question from Bard, who had thusfar been pretending to blend into the walls it seemed. The bowman sounded rather regretful that the answer to his unasked question would be in the affirmative. He had not thought that news of Kili’s confirmed death might not have yet spread beyond the dwarves who had witnessed his body being brought back. It was somewhat encouraging at least that Bard seemed genuinely distressed at the thought of the youngest of Durin’s line having died, but oh how weary Oin was of announcing death at every turn.

His voice, when it came, was gruff and low, barely more than a whisper. “…I’m afraid so, he was found yesterday evening, at dusk.” 

“I must express my condolences at such a loss Master Oin, it is very unfortunate news.” The dwarf studied the face of Thranduil, he did seem honest at least. “Whatever our disagreements in the past I would not wish such misfortune on the innocent, even more so on ones so young.” Bard had not responded to the news that Kili had died beyond a grimace and a rather strikingly unhappy expression, which spoke enough in Oin’s mind and he felt somewhat more at ease with the man listening in. 

“I…well…” The dwarf swallowed thickly and struggled not to lose himself to the grief that would of course strike him at such an inopportune time. He spent most of his days busily trying to make sure that the injured lived and the sick grew well again and there was never a shortage of those who needed him. Letting himself mourn was not a luxury he had yet been granted, even denying himself the relief when Gloin pestered him to talk. But the honest expressions of sorrow that faced him from those who knew very little of the ones who had been lost caught him off guard and off balance. 

He swallowed once more and cleared his throat, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. So consumed by thoughts of his king and princes, he did not notice Thranduil rise smoothly from the desk and step around it to stand before the dwarf, straight backed and solemn, until he once again looked up at the scene before him. It was almost startling the change in demeanor, from lax and somewhat sarcastic to serious and sharply attentive.

“What situation is at hand that requires my assistance?” Oin tried not to let his surprise show as he stumbled on.

“Ah, yes, you see…the king and his nephews…have been found and prepared for burial, but I feel we should postpone the memorial…for…something quite strange is afoot I am sure of it, but I am but a dwarf and know nothing of magic or any of its kind. I thought perhaps an elf would know more and so I asked one of your healers to…take a look at things but he was also unsure of what was…happening and I had heard you were an especially talented healer and thought perhaps…” Here he finally stopped, feeling even more like a buffoon than he thought he might at the out start. Thranduil was gracious enough to ignore his bumbling however and focused instead on the very obvious missing information.

“And what, may I ask, is happening?” 

“Well…eh…” He hesitated only a moment more, glancing at Bard in the corner before deciding it wouldn’t matter for surely the elf standing guard could hear their entire exchange and surely an elf that could be so easily bribed would not feel honor bound to keep his tongue for the benefit of a dwarf. “They have all been dead for many days, you see, eleven in Thorin’s case but…I have much experience in the effects death has on the body Master Thranduil and it has never taken it’s time quite so much as it is now. As far as I can tell all three of them still appear exactly as they were found. It is as if…death has not accepted them.” 

He was prepared for skepticism but received only the narrowing of eyes as if confused. 

“Have you spoken with Mithrandir?” Oin had to remind himself who was being spoken of, remembering the elves referring to the grey wizard as such. 

“I have asked about for him but you know his ways, if he does not wish to be found he will not be.” 

“Truer words…” The elf spoke softly to himself, eyes scanning the air before him, deep in thought.

“Perhaps we can postpone our discussion until tomorrow, King Thranduil.” The bowman’s deep voice made Oin start just slightly, having been concentrating so hard on the elf before him. Bard stood with his hands clasped behind his back and a deep crease between his eyebrows, whether in concern or incredulity Oin was unsure but grateful nonetheless. “I rather think this is more urgent than any trade agreements we might come to.”

“Yes of course Master Bard, thank you.” The king bowed his head in his customary fashion as the man left the tent, then turning back to the dwarf before him.

“If you should show me what you speak of, I will lend you my knowledge.”

They were given no shortage of strange looks as they strode through the castle. He used the exact passages he had with the healer elf before but Oin recognized the same regal bearing in the blond as he had seen in Thorin. It was necessary for commanding respect and leading with authority, not so good for blending in. It did not help that the room currently holding the heirs of Durin was deep within the mountain and guarded by one of the company at all times, now that Kili had been recovered. Oin breathed a deep sigh of relief at the sight of Balin beside the door, of all of them he was certainly the most reasonable and loyal and would keep his tongue better than any other.

Of course his loyalty also meant he was not necessarily pleased to see Thranduil approaching the temporary tomb of his king. Balin frowned as they came near and looked at Oin expectantly.

“What exactly are you up to, Oin?” Although there was an undercurrent of strain in his voice he forced a smile towards Thranduil and gave a short bow in greeting, to which the king gave a slow and measured nod of his head. Oin clasped his hands together and found himself fidgeting nervously again.

“Well you see…something has come to my attention that I am unsure how to manage and I thought perhaps King Thranduil here, being a talented healer, might be able to give me a bit of advice.” Balin stared at him for a long moment, his expression unchanging before he spoke once more, obvious strain in his voice.

“What exactly could be going on that has you seeking an elf for help?” And that is how, after a short moment of contemplation by Oin, Balin became the first of the company to officially be told of the strange circumstances surrounding the dwarf king and his heirs. His reaction was rather non-existent, seeming so stricken he didn’t have words to speak when Oin led him into the room to see them all.

Balin stood to the side staring, his mouth just slightly open, eyes flicking from one pale face to another while Thranduil walked slowly around each cot, examining the faces of each dwarf. There was a softness there when he looked upon Fili and Kili and an honest sadness seemed to hang about his shoulders. After a single loop around them the elf king paused at the head of the room, taking in each dwarf once more before moving to the bedside of Thorin, whom he knew most likely to have been dead the longest. Taking a seat on the side of the cot, and looking disproportionately large sitting on one made for a dwarf, he placed one graceful hand on the dwarf’s pulse point beneath his jaw.

“There is no pulse, I have checked.” Oin spoke softly, but received no response. Thranduil sat very still, his eyes drifting to his own knees before they closed slowly, he seemed to be in a trance. It was so very quiet in the room Balin’s breathing seemed to echo and they waited for what seemed like eons but was more than likely a few minutes, before they witnessed his eyes open once more.

He drew his hand away and blinked, staring down at Thorin with a slight crease between his eyebrows before rising in one swift movement. It took him only a moment to turn to Oin and speak of his discoveries.

“I cannot tell you what it is that keeps them this way, only that they are not entirely gone.”

Balin sputtered, “What do you _mean_ they are not entirely gone?” This time his voice echoed throughout the stone room and he flinched at his own volume. Thranduil was rather unphased however and contemplated how best to express his thoughts to those without any view of such matters.

“Their spirits still cling to them, if barely, and their hearts continue to beat-"

“But I checked for a pulse!” 

“Indeed you did and you found none,” He turned back to Oin specifically now. “And you would not find any if you checked again, the beat is so faint and slow I doubt any but an elf could detect it, and even so it would be difficult.”

“But how can any of this be? Their wounds were fatal surely!” Balin sounded so distressed that Oin wondered if allowing him in was a good idea, though he doubted he would have been able to stop him. 

“I did not say they never died, simply that they are not entirely gone.”

“But… _what is the difference?_ ” Thranduil only shook his head once to the side and let out a slow breath.

“It is difficult to explain… While their bodies indeed succumbed to their wounds…there is something there, some foreign source of power that is binding body and spirit.”

“Foreign source of power?” Balin’s voice was once again thready and weak as if he was speaking to himself more than any other.

“I cannot tell you what it could be, only that it does not originate with the king, or his nephews. Perhaps Mithrandir would be of more assistance.”

“Perhaps…” Oin said with a weighty sigh, “But I cannot find the great grey arse for all I’m worth. He seems to have vanished.” Thranduil raised an eyebrow but did not say anything in return, standing smoothly from the cot and walking towards the door. 

“Do you not want to look at the boys?” Balin inquired softly.

The elf king turned to the white bearded dwarf, giving him his full attention. “There is no need, whatever binds Thorin to this world is the same that binds them, their hearts beat as one.” He then glanced at Oin and again nodded his head in acknowledgement, “As I have lent my abilities as far as possible in the matter I feel I should take my leave, I do not believe Master Thorin would appreciate my presence here. I will let you know if I hear any word of Mithrandir.” 

“Yes, thank you.” Was all Oin could muster in return, not even following the elf out. Instead, he edged closer to Balin, who stood near the wall, far from the cots, looking pale and stricken and like he might be sick.

“Is he saying they could be saved?” He whispered so quietly Oin did not hear a word of it, his ears failing as they were, but he did not need to, watching the dwarf’s face closely and reading the words on his lips. Oin did not reply for a long moment, placing an arm around his friend’s shoulders and taking a deep breath before speaking.

“I do not know Balin, but I cannot think this has happened for no more reason than to torture us with false hope.” 

***

Bilbo tried his best to ignore the chatter that increased tenfold after the discovery of Kili. Where it had been quiet and hushed before it was now a buzzing undercurrent to almost every conversation the hobbit managed to stumble into during his rounds with food and drink. The men and elves almost seemed to speak of such things more than the dwarves, but everyone had something to say of the dead heirs of Durin, and things did not quiet down in the least when the burial was not carried out the next day as previously planned. 

Everyone seemed to speculate on the delay, and all previous rumors of suspicious circumstances surrounding theirs deaths seemed to jump tenfold. Some insisted it was just simple delays because they wanted to give them the best burial possible or perhaps because the wizard was missing and not present to witness the proceedings and most of the company felt he should be there. But they happened to be the minority in the situation as the rumors of the king and his nephews unchanging states after death had been spreading twice as fast since that very morning it seemed. Bilbo heard many outrageous theories as to why this might be and what it could possibly mean but he certainly doubted any of them were quite as outrageous as the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp I hope you like! next chapter should be up in a weeks time! Please comment and tell me what you think! I promise things will start moving along a bit faster soon.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The company discovers the truth and Bilbo disappears

***

When the young dwarf opened his eyes the sky above him was a dark, bluish purple, and long shadows stretched across his face from branches on trees he did not remember seeing the last he was awake. This was not what he expected. Though what he did expect he wasn’t sure of. The last thing he remembered was the thunk of a spear piercing his shoulder with so much force he was driven to the ground and an agonizing pain that left him deaf and blind to the world around him. 

If he was not hallucinating, which was a distinct possibility, then he was in the middle of a forest somewhere, completely alone, at sunrise. Kili sat up slowly, staring out through the trees and shivered at the chilling wind that blew through his clothes. 

***

Nori was not one to sit around and wait for information. Or for much of anything really, and the whispers that he heard running through the groups of dwarves, men, and elves alike had him jittery and irritable. What was wrong with these people? Couldn’t they let something alone, instead of dragging it out and causing more trouble than was good for anyone? What use was it to anyone to pretend that their leader and king along with his heirs were somehow still in this world and not gone for good? It was not of any, is what he concluded and found himself decidedly less interested in the chatter of strangers from foreign lands than he ever had been. He did not think there was much he could glean from any of them since all they seemed to speak of was the tragedy that befell the royal line, and that was something Nori knew more than enough of already. 

Instead he tried to be helpful, even if no one knew, he rather preferred it that way. Sneaking about in the background unnoticed was his specialty after all, so he tried to make it a bit of a game, lugging supplies from one place to another without ever being seen. It was unfortunately much easier than he anticipated with how busy and distracted everyone was, no one even seemed to question their items appearing out of nowhere. It turned out to be a rather paltry distraction for his mind and no matter how he tried it always wandered back to Thorin and the boys. It wasn’t as if he had a grand friendship with Thorin, nor the lads, but Nori wasn’t one to make close friends in general. 

He lived a life on the edge of society, always looking in, always watching, observing and drawing his own conclusions. Very few people in the world knew Nori as he truly was and he liked it that way, even his elder brother seemed badly misinformed about him often enough. Few people observed like the thief, most of them simply glanced at the outline of a person, made a picture in their mind of who they were and moved on. Their eyes did not penetrate beyond the surface, they never looked deeper, never cared to. 

Thorin was not one of these people, no, Thorin always seemed to know things you would never expect. Because when he looked at his world he paid attention, to the people, to their lives. Nori had been rather shocked when the king had made such assumptions about their burglar, for he’d never seen him write someone off so quickly before. But of course the thief also knew the sort of pressure he had been under, and the numerous disappointments he had faced in trying to gather together a company. He had changed his tune in the end. And good on that for Nori could never respect a king who couldn’t see passed the end of his own nose, like many dwarves he knew. At times it vexed him that there was someone he could not fool, who seemed to see exactly what made him tick, especially in his youth. But the dwarf did not scold and he did not judge and the thief could not have found someone he respected more. Whoever would replace him as king would be a poor substitute. He had played with the idea of volunteering as spymaster for Thorin once his kingdom was reclaimed. He never would have entertained such an idea in the beginning but as time went on, his pessimism about the quest seemed to lessen and he became hopeful.

False hopes they turned out to be and Nori cursed himself for allowing such things to grow in his heart. The disappointment was always crushing and this time was no different. He was not sure then what would happen to his life when Erebor was officially back in business. He might’ve been rich, but he had no trade, no honorable work to keep him busy during the day and the thought of nothing to keep his mind occupied frightened him more than he would like to admit. There were two main reasons Nori took up as a thief, it was the one thing he was good at that allowed him to bring home much needed funds for their family, and it was a way to keep his racing mind from running him into the ground. Doing nothing was not an option for this dwarf, ever. He needed a purpose, a task, but he could not follow a different king, could never have the loyalty he did for Thorin. 

Nori hadn’t known Fili or Kili as well as he would have liked but everything he observed about them on their journey spoke of their loyalty to their uncle and his cause, as well as to each other and their friends. They were honest and good dwarrows and although they were both very young he thought they might also grow into dwarves who looked a little deeper than most. Perhaps if it had been one of them to take the throne he might have gone through with his original plan. But alas they were all gone.

With the lack of a decent distraction he found himself recounting the ridiculous theories he was constantly hearing as he scurried through the shadows, unable to draw his thoughts from the matter. There was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to believe these stories, and if you want something badly enough it can be difficult to banish hope, even if you know it is unfounded. 

That is where the dwarf found himself, filled with hope and longing for the impossible and unable to shake it. He thought about speaking with one of his brothers, perhaps even Bofur (another dwarf who truly saw what he looked at) but could not bring himself to voice his own addled thoughts. However, he knew the thoughts would not go out of his mind even if they did discuss it. He always had to see things with his own eyes, never had been able to take someone’s word for it. 

Which was why not a day later, as the sun was coming up and it was still dark outside his light feet went padding silently through the still musty halls of his people’s native home, through twisting corridors to find himself before the designated room of the soon-to-be-buried king and his heirs. He swallowed thickly as he stared at the so rarely unguarded door. He knew he didn’t have much time before whichever member of the company was supposed to be there would arrive, for they had not been leaving it unattended. The dwarf thought the guarding was more to allow them all to rest some than to actually do any good. He doubted any with ill will were wanting to get in to the see the dead king and his nephews, what use would there be in it?

Although there the thief stood and he could rarely be said to have good intentions. He took one deep breath and moved, knowing, not exactly but having a good estimate of, what he would most likely find inside. It was not a pretty thought but hesitation was something a criminal could not afford often if ever and this was just as any high risk situation. Best to move and be finished with it before too much thinking could be done. When his fist closed around the door handle he took a deep breath and held it just before swinging it open and stepping swiftly inside. He however did not hold his breath for long because the sight before him was enough to make Nori do something he would never admit to. He gasped. 

There the three were, looking sickly but certainly not departed nearly a fortnight. The dwarf did his best to quell the sudden flip flopping his stomach was doing as he took slow but deliberate steps towards the three cots, lined up in a row in the center of the room. 

The dwarf had always been shrewd and a skeptic to the bone, but he had also seen many things in his travels and learned that just because he’d never heard of something like it before, did not mean it was impossible, and that his eyes rarely lied. Nori didn’t linger long in the room, hardly able to comprehend the facts set before him, but when he left, he left on a mission. 

***

Nori held his cards close to his chest in all things and this was no different. He was not about to go flying through the halls for every member of the company to tell them the news, even if he thought they all really ought to know. He had no doubt that at least a majority of the company had no idea that the ridiculous rumors that were flying around had any truth to them, but he knew Oin certainly did. And he’d rather like to know why all of middle Earth seemed to be privy to the information before any of the rest of them. He wasn’t going to rule out that perhaps the old dwarf had a good reason, but suffice it to say he was not entirely pleased with the healer and he took a bit of pleasure at the way he nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned around to find a star shaped shadow crossing his path. Especially since it had taken him much too long to find the old dwarf.

“Durin’s beard Nori, you’re going to send me to my grave, _what do you want?”_ The clear exhaustion that hung from the dwarf like a weight was enough to soften the thief’s heart, if only a little, so he gave him a break and decided to cut to the chase.

“I know the rumors are true.” He wasn’t sure what all he expected in return, but it was not the heavy sigh of acceptance that he got.

“Figured it would be you, if not Dwalin.” 

“Balin knows then?” Oin snorted. “It’s not as if that boulder of a dwarf would ever listen to the idle gossip of strangers.” 

“You’re right of course, and yes, Balin knows.” Nori raised his eyebrows in return.

“And yet, the rest of the company remains in the dark. Were we to be the last peoples of Middle Earth to hear the news?” The healer sighed once again and rubbed both hands over his face.

“I am sorry about that. I would have kept it quieter had there been the option, but I was wanting to move as fast as possible and elves have sharper ears than any dwarf and men never seem to mind their own.” 

“Well that explains why everyone else knows, doesn’t quite explain why none of the rest of us were graced with such knowledge.” 

“Ah…why don’t you come with me?” He put a heavy hand on Nori’s shoulder and turned him about so they faced the same direction and began to walk down the stone hall they had been standing in, towards his own sleeping quarters. He was almost surprised when the thief actually followed and just a bit relieved. 

As they walked into the room Nori took stock of his surroundings, it was clearly a long abandoned place, as the whole of the palace was, that had been hastily cleaned and shoved full of all the supplies a dwarf might need to get by. A cot stuffed in the corner, blankets strewn on it and the floor, a large chest of what he imagined must be medicine and herbs stuffed in one corner along with the same pack he had carried with him on the quest, evidently returned to him by the elves at some point, and large amounts of books littered about the floor and stacked in the corners, torn pages flitting around as the door shut behind them. Candles hanging on the walls were all that lit the room and it was dim and rather chilly.

Oin sat heavily on his cot and threw a pillow to his companion.

“Might as well have a seat, sorry it’s all the hospitality I’m equipped to give.” Nori acquiesced and sat down cross legged on the floor, carefully avoiding the books. He did not have to prompt the dwarf to continue.

“You have every right to be irked at me for leaving everyone in the dark, but know I only did it to spare feelings.”

“Won’t be sparing many feelings when everyone hears it from the elves before you.” 

“Aye, aye, you’re right. I only worried that it would pass, and I would have given you all false hope.” 

“Why Balin then?” Oin shrugged.

“Couldn’t really get around it. He was there when I took Thranduil to examine the bodies and I couldn’t very well tell him the king simply fancied a visit.” 

“Thranduil?” 

“Aye.” The healer nodded slowly and took a deep breath. Nori listened carefully to what his elder had to say and did not interrupt. He was not angry in the least that he had recruited elves to consult with. You went to whomever had the knowledge you sought in such dire situations, regardless of past grudges and misdeeds. 

“Been doing your own research as well?” A torn page from one of the books sat on the floor within reading distance and clearly stated “The Living Sleep” at the top.

“As much as I’ve been able. But nothing has been of any help explaining what’s going on. They are not simply comatose Nori, they died just as surely as everyone thought…just not completely, apparently.” 

“Sounds as if this is all beyond the skills of a healer, where is Gandalf in all this?”

“Missing, as is always the case when the old coot is most needed.” There was a heavy silence in which Oin took a moment to appreciate the dwarf before him, he may have been a thief and con but his level headedness was something to be admired. It was not exactly easily digested news but he did not gasp and sputter and shake his head about like others he was sure would.

“I suppose it’s best the company be informed of what’s been going on now, as things don’t appear to be changing and as you said, better they don’t look as fools, scoffing at the tales of elves, and find themselves very much in the wrong.” 

“…You want to do it now?” It was dark outside at that point, more than likely most of them had taken up in their own sleeping quarters.

“There’ll be no better time, at least now they should all be easy enough to track down.” Nori nodded once and stood.

“They aren’t gonna be happy with you, I’m afraid.”

“I’m a doctor lad, I’m used to it.” He was greeted with a familiar smirk at that and told the younger dwarf to gather everyone back to his room while he made space for all of them. It would probably be a long night.

***

Smoking a pipe was about the only thing that could put Bofur to sleep in those days. Without one he would lie awake and stare at the ceiling as if trying to see through the stone to the stars beyond, longing for the days of their quest again, thinking he would have liked their travels to be never ending if it meant that two of his favorite dwarfling’s and their esteemed uncle would still walk Middle Earth. 

And that is how the thief found him, propped up under a window, puffing smoke and watching it drift into the night outside. He almost did not hear the knock over the snoring of his baby brother, but it didn’t matter much since a moment later the door swung open from the outside. 

“Didn’t know you could pick a lock so fast, me friend.” 

“I’d say you underestimate me but alas, you left it unlocked.” The miner raised his eyebrows.

“Ah, guess I can’t say I’m much used to doors at all yet.” Nori smirked at him and glanced at the large slumbering mass of Bombur tucked into the corner, then to Bifur, who was sitting up on his cot, watching the dwarf expectantly.

“’m afraid I have to interrupt your night, and ask you to go to Oin’s room.” 

“Did something happen?” After years of knowing the sly dwarf that stood before him Bofur considered himself a bit of an expert on reading the tiny ticks of his person and the way he honestly seemed at a loss for words to his question had him on edge immediately.

“You could say that….but it’s nothing new. New to you and everyone else, but not really new.” 

“Don’t talk riddles.” Came the lightening signs of Bifur. Nori waved a hand through the air and huffed.

“If I tell you why you have to come, I’ll be here all night and then you won’t have to come, just go, I’m getting everybody else.” He then turned and gave Bofur a meaningful look though the dwarf couldn’t for the life of him translate what it could mean, only that whatever it was that had him waking half the castle and calling a Company meeting meant big news that should not be missed.

He stamped his thumb in the end of his pipe, putting it out and singeing his skin just a tad in his haste. “We’ll be there as fast as we can.” Tossing the pipe in his bag he sent one of his brother’s shoes soaring overhead to land with a thump on the dwarf’s substantial gut, cutting the snores off abruptly. Bofur was already rising from the floor when the shoe came rocketing back at him, narrowly missing it as he gave a wide grin to his friend still stood in the doorway. “Won’t be missing another adventure if I can help it.” He tipped his hat and started pulling his boots on, ignoring the grumping from Bombur as their cousin explained to him why he was woken so very rudely. 

He had a feeling in his belly, something squirming and unsettling, butterflies like the kind at the dawning of an important day. Whether they were good or bad stood to be seen but Bofur was not a pessimist by any definition of the word and where others were no doubt grumpy and gloomy at the potential for more bad news, the minor felt a brush of hope in his chest, and he was not above clinging to it, even if it turned out to be false. 

***

The room was half full by the time Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur made it inside and it was already rather crowded. Oin sat on his cot, looking deadly serious and a bit hesitant, his eyes grazing over each of them, finally meeting Bofur’s. His mouth gave a tiny quark up and a nod. Everyone stood around in their bedclothes, boots stuck on with laces untied, blinking the sleep out of their eyes. Dwalin scowled at the floor as if he might bend it to his will and mold a chair from the stone. 

A pat to his shoulder earned him a glare that would have any dwarf with sense shaking in his boots. Of course Bofur had never had much sense and smiled instead. “Do you sleep in that damn hat?” that brought a snort to his nose.

“Did you never notice on our journey?” The large dwarf’s eyes narrowed even further if it were possible. Where the miner might have chuckled in response before, the floating feeling in his gut had him laughing outright. It didn’t help his reputation that when a hush fell over the room as the last member of their company was ushered in and the door shut behind him, he was still laughing softly to himself. Quickly stifling the last of it with a cough he offered a smile to the hobbit. While Bilbo padded over to him, with a small amount of difficulty in the crowded, increasingly stuffy room, he did not offer a smile in return and looked a bit sickly in the dwarf’s opinion. He reached over and gave the lad’s elbow a squeeze, hoping to at least lighten the crease between his brows, the toymaker hated seeing anyone upset. The grim smile he received in return did nothing to help ease his worry for the hobbit but he didn’t say anything as Oin cleared his throat loudly.

“You are all wondering what this is about I’m sure.” Nori stood to the healer’s left and watched them all carefully, studying their expressions. There were general murmurs of ascent and Dwalin crossed his large arms over his chest, making an even more imposing figure. “I’m sorry it has taken me so long to inform you all of what’s…been happening, but I did not want to give false hope if all did turn out as we expected.” Murmurs floated around the room again.

“Would you just spit it out brother!” Gloin shot from towards the front of the group. 

“Aye, Aye…you have all probably been hearing rumors and tales of Thorin and his nephews…” The room then became extremely quiet, Bofur could almost feel the apprehension rising in the group and swallowed nervously. He shot a glance at Bilbo just to see If the lad was alright but found him stiff as a board and white as chalk, afraid he might faint he put a hand to the back of the halfling’s neck and squeezed gently. The hobbit drew in a sharp breath as if he had been holding it and glanced at Bofur with another shaky, very unconvincing smile and turned his eyes back to the scene before them. 

“I brought you here to tell you that some of them are indeed true.” He paused here, as if waiting for outbursts and yelling but found only hungry silence and continued. Bofur could barely believe his ears, and found himself rather frozen to the spot. When all was said and done there certainly were outbursts, Gloin and Dwalin as well as Dori couldn’t seem to accept the news without further proof and the bald warrior was none too happy when he found his brother was privy to this information already, and had said nothing to him. 

“I understand that everyone is reluctant to believe something so…outlandish, but I assure you I would not make it up, and if you wish to see them for yourselves I will not stop you.” Bofur didn’t speak, only followed when the large group all stumbled one by one out the door of Oin’s now boiling room to the cool hallway. A shiver went down his spine but he didn’t quite think it was the temperature that did it. The walk was almost unbearable, no one spoke or even looked at each other as the great stone door came into view. They all stopped and stared for a good long while before finally Oin stepped forward and grabbed the handle, pulling the door open and revealing a dark room, with a sparing amount of candles lit along the walls. The first to step forward was Ori of all people, with Dori rushing in behind him, grabbing the back of his cloak as if to save him from some unknown danger. Bofur waited at the back with his brother and cousin until all others had filed in, finally taking steps to join them. Once inside torches were lit and the room was filled with a warm flickering light and in the center, three cots lay.

A strong hand gripped his arm, to steady him or themselves he couldn’t be sure, but upon looking up his younger brother offered him a pale and shaky smile. All Bofur could do was laugh.

It was surely in terrible taste, but laugh he did and he could not stop. With both hands covering his mouth and bent so far forward he would have toppled over had Bifur not grabbed his other arm, he gasped for breath, tears streamed down his cheeks and in moments he could no longer tell if he was laughing or crying. 

The commotion around them seemed to indicate that many others felt the same, Ori was crying on his brother’s shoulder while Dori looked on, pale and shocked. Gloin shook his head over and over with both hands pulling painfully on his beard, Dwalin seemed to shake in sudden fits, his older brother wrapping his arm around his shoulders and squeezing tightly, while Bifur looked on, expression unchanging but a river running down his face. Bombur and Bofur both wrapped an arm around their cousin’s shoulders and held him tightly before the toymaker saw Nori standing alone in the corner, watching everyone with a strained expression. He took no time at all in disentangling himself from Bifur to launch a tight hug on his unsuspecting friend who laughed and pounded him on the back. 

“But what does it mean?” It was only a whisper but everyone heard it, Dwalin, in the only frightened sounding voice the miner had ever heard from the warrior. 

“It means there’s hope!” Was the loud reply from Gloin. “It means, the line of Durin does not end here! The world has plans for these three yet.” He spoke with such conviction that Bofur felt it, he felt bolstered by it and with an arm still around Nori he glanced about for the hobbit, hoping to celebrate with him, only to find him missing. “Where’s Bilbo?” The small smirk on Nori’s face slowly fell as he turned to the toymaker.

“He never came inside.”

“What?”

“He must have left when the rest of us were going in.” the thief shrugged and gave a grimacing sort of smile. “A bit much for him to take I suppose, with how him and Thorin parted.” Bofur blinked back in confusion, never knowing the hobbit to back down from anything he was afraid of before. 

“Perhaps…”

***

Nori was wrong, on almost all accounts.

Bilbo had indeed not gone into the room with them, but he had not waited until they were all filing inside to take his exit. He hadn’t even waited for Oin to finish explaining what was happening before slipping out of the room more silently than he thought he had ever moved. He didn’t need to hear the rest. 

No, of all of them he certainly knew what was happening and had known in his heart that it was the case since the night Thorin died, when he had dreamed in a language he did not know, one with harsh sounds and hard edges. The dreams hadn’t stopped after that, though none made more sense than the last, always in that harsh language that Bilbo recognized immediately, but tried his best not to.

He couldn’t accept it. He couldn’t do it again. Not this time, not with such young boys and a great leader that all meant so much to so many. He could not give them false hope. He could not spend every night searching in a dream world that he didn’t understand, only to find nothing, only to wake to the same pale and sickly figures who would only grow weaker in appearance with each passing day. 

He couldn’t do it.

He _couldn’t._

So he ran away. Like he had wanted to more than anything else as a young man when his father had laid in his bed, as if a ghost, never to wake again, no matter how he searched or how he prayed for some sort of miracle. He had tried to find fairies once, spending at least a week’s time searching through the Old Forest, listening to the trees speak to each other and wishing he could understand, so that he might ask their help and receive an answer. It was not a safe place, and he had been warned against traveling there he didn’t know how many times as a tween, but it seemed the only place that magical beings might live, so he had ignored them all and gone on his way. The trees had left him be, though they did not seem all that kind. After two days with nothing to eat after running out of rations, and finding nothing closer to fairies than a talking bird that did nothing but insult him, he had found his way back to the shire and to Bag End, where his mother waited, wringing her hands and trying not to look as if her world was ending. 

He had missed the shire many times since leaving it almost two years passed, but never so much as that night. The hobbit stared up at the moon as he walked, with no regard as to where, as long as there was grass, just no more stone, he was so _tired_ of stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. Sorry nothing greatly exciting happens in this chapter, but I promise the actual adventure part is coming shortly. Thank you all for all the kudos and subscriptions! I hope you will leave a comment though...I know more people are reading than are commenting! Chapter four will be up in a week!


	5. Chapter Four Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil thinks, Gandalf shows his face, dwarves are worried, and Bilbo is distinctly unhappy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This does not have everything I hoped to get into this chapter, which is why I split it because it would end up being twice this long if I didn't. Also because this is as far as I got in a week and didn't want to make you wait another one before getting anything from me. That being said, progress is being made slowly...I really should add "slow build" to the tags. 
> 
> Warning that the next chapter might be a tad late, I have family coming and I won't have as much time to write for a few weeks. However I often need time away from my family so I won't make you wait until they leave! (I don't even know how long they are staying, but it will be a while...)
> 
> All that being said, thank you for all the subscriptions and bookmarks and kudos! I hope you enjoy the chapter and that you might comment ;)

It had been days since the elf king’s visit into the palace of Erebor and many more since the end of the Great Battle. Despite how it may seem the king did at times tire, and the sadness and grief that seemed to hang about the dwarves, whenever he would come in contact with one, had him avoiding them when at all possible. He was sure it did nothing to alleviate his reputation for disliking them, but that was certainly not the cause for the behavior. The tiredness, if nothing else, seemed to help him see the dwarves just as they were, and not as the reckless and selfish beings he had felt they were when they had barged into his kingdom unannounced spitting insults and disrespect. 

They were not so different from men, if a bit longer lived and a tad more stubborn than most. He was not overly fond of them, but he did not dislike them. They seemed to suffer often and it was most unfortunate, but he was not sure what he could help. Thranduil’s own people needed him, and even with all of his knowledge and powers of healing he could not resurrect the dead. 

Even if perhaps they were not entirely gone. 

This was no physical wound that could be healed, it was something much deeper than that, something that was heavy with a sort of magic he had never encountered before. He could not help them. But he thought if anyone could, the wizard seemed a most apt candidate.

Although he was not fond of Thorin Oakenshield the elf king did not wish him dead. As for his nephews, there were few greater tragedies in the word than the deaths of the young. Most of all however, there was guilt in his heart. He remembered well the moment of shock and the flash of fear as the youngest dwarf’s, Kili’s, bow had leveled itself with his head. For just a moment he thought the young one aimed to kill him, before he shot just passed his left ear and the familiar sound of an arrow imbedding itself in flesh, followed by a screaming that could only come from a goblin, filled his ears and the dark haired dwarf had flashed a grin most unseen in the heart of battle.

The sound had been so near, he knew the young one had saved his life, and yet the elf king had not been able to return the favor. And although Thranduil had no personal interaction with the older one, Fili, Tauriel had told of his strength in battle and how he had fought beside her for some time before they were separated. He had called her a friend, as no dwarf had referred to an elf since many years before the days of Smaug. She had also been most upset by the news of the young ones’ deaths. She was a warrior and the head of his guard and did her best to hide these things from her king, but Legolas did not hide overmuch from him, especially when it came to the wellbeing of his friends. If it meant less pressure on her shoulders he would let her secret slip to his father. 

And so he did the only thing he could think of to assist them and had his son and Tauriel both search out the grey wizard. Just as the dwarf healer Oin had told him however, when the wizard did not wish to be found it proved extremely difficult to do so and as it happened, they only seemed to succeed in rather amusing him.

“It seems I have been rather missed?” Thranduil paused in his ruminations and closed his eyes as he took a deep breath. 

“For someone so wise you seem to be lacking information rather often.” Gandalf chuckled and smiled as the elf king turned to face him from where he stood towards the back of his temporary quarters outside Erebor. 

“A wizard has many things to deal with at once, most cannot simply be ignored.” 

“You mean like your dwarf friends, and the hobbit?” The bit of spitefulness in the comment went unmentioned by the wizard but his smile faded.

“I’ve missed something rather important then have I?”

“Indeed.” A blustering sigh escaped his lips as he leaned heavily on a support post in the entrance of the structure. 

“It always does seem that all the excitement happens when I’m away.” He stared at his hands, grasping the top of his gnarled staff for a moment with a small look of regret before glancing back up. “So then Thranduil, what has happened that has the King of the Greenwood searching me out for the sake of dwarves and a hobbit?” 

“Something extremely unprecedented. It appears that some sort of….magic, is at work in the palace.” The wizard raised an eyebrow, lifting his head fully and giving the elf a hard stare. 

“If this is all so very important, please do not keep me in suspense, my friend.” Thranduil nodded in acquiescence and cut to the chase.

“King Thorin and his nephews have yet to be buried, as something appears to be keeping them linked to this world.” Gandalf stared.

“Linked.”

“It seems so. I could not tell you what it is, only that no one else appears to know either. The healer, Oin, asked for my assistance some days ago in determining the cause for their continued resistance to the after affects of death, but I could give him no answer beyond, something is keeping them here. I do not know what, only that I have never seen the likes of it before.

“I fear you have much to discuss with your dwarves.” 

“It certainly seems so.” Was the low, murmured reply. “Thank you for trying to reach me, otherwise I might have been gone much longer.” Thranduil only offered a second nod and waved his hand, dismissing the wizard to address the situation he had been called for.

***

Balin was the first to see Gandalf, walking heads above any dwarves in his surroundings as he marched towards the mountain, a very serious expression on his face. The dwarf did not waste a moment in getting someone to fetch Oin and rushing to meet the wizard, a mix of anxiety and excitement bubbling up in his chest.

“Gandalf!” he waved a hand above his head as dwarves parted around him, allowing his way towards the wizard. “Gandalf we have been searching for you for days!” He huffed as he came to a stop in front of the maia, giving his staff a light kick for good measure. The wizard gave a small smile and nodded in apology.

“Yes, Thranduil has told me of this most interesting development, I am sorry I was not here sooner.” 

“Ah, you already know then.” The old dwarf seemed to deflate a bit in relief at not having to recount the information. 

“I do, and I would much like to see them as soon as possible.”

“Yes, yes of course, please follow me, Oin should be coming any minute now.” Although Balin did his best to stay stalwart and unaffected, he couldn’t seem to help the tremors in his hands. He knew he was constantly fidgeting and he had never sweat so much in his life, but there was not much to be done about it. The kind of nerves that came along with discovering some of your most precious family members as not-quite-entirely-dead were nothing to be scoffed at. The old dwarf found he could not sleep, nor could he eat much without it turning sour in his stomach. It was such a marvelous hope, but what could they do with it? They knew not where it came from, what caused it, how long it might last, if it meant anything at all, and most importantly they did not know what in Middle Earth to do about it. 

Oin met them just inside the main entrance, rushing towards them with the same harried look Balin had come to expect in the most recent days. 

“Gandalf, it’s about time you showed your face again.”

“That seems to be the general consensus yes.” The wizard gave a smile and cleared his throat. “And as much as I’m sure we all have to catch up on, I know you will rather want to cut to the chase, so please, feel free.” Oin heaved a sigh and nodded enthusiastically, waving them both on behind him and towards the room that held the descendants of Durin. 

Gandalf’s inspection went similarly to Thranduil’s, though it was obvious to anyone watching that the wizard was not quite so detached. His hands moved slowly, hesitant almost, as he felt for a pulse on Fili, moving his hand away from the lad’s throat and to his forehead, where he placed his right palm flat, closing his eyes for a long moment. Balin was not familiar with much magic, nor were most dwarves, and beyond what he had seen Gandalf do in the past he had no experience with it. The fact that he could feel it in the air, emanating from the wizard, told him whatever he was doing must require a large amount of the stuff. 

As he watched on, Oin standing by his side much forgotten, the white haired dwarf could feel his heart beating in his throat, hoping beyond hope that this ridiculous and magnificent being could help them somehow. Perhaps a bit of magic was all they needed to snap them awake again, to snatch them back from the jaws of death. Maybe a person capable of sorcery could simply grab hold of whatever power tied them there and drag them back by it. 

He’d seen those boys grow up, all three of them, and to have them pass before him seemed so entirely wrong. The old dwarf would never be having children of his own, and the thought had never much bothered him with such ones in his life, if they left him forever, what would he even do? He had devoted his life to advising and mentoring Thorin and in turn his nephews. Without them, he was nothing.

Gandalf’s inspection took significantly longer than the elf king’s, as he took the time to look upon each dwarf with care and concentration, looking lastly at Thorin and sighing heavily as he stood at last. “It is just as Thranduil said, it seems there is a magic holding them here, keeping their bodies from decaying and their spirits departing.”

“Yes.” Oin spoke gruffly, “We have been told, can you offer us anything more? Is there not something we can do? I mean….what does this mean? Is there hope?” Balin looked from his old friend and company healer to the tall wizard in expectation, anxiety stuck in his chest, forming a crease in his brow as he noticed the hesitant expression on the maia’s face. 

“…I would say there is indeed hope…” The words came hesitantly, which did nothing to assuage either dwarf’s worries.

_“and?”_ they both spoke at once.

“And I cannot tell you what exactly it means….or how it happened…may I ask though…” At this his expression grew slightly strained, “Where is Bilbo in all this?” 

The question caught them so off guard that neither spoke for a long moment before Oin sputtered slightly and cleared his throat. “Well I can’t be sure, no one has seen him since the other night.”

“What other night?” 

“Since the night I shared this with the whole company, two days ago.” Gandalf’s brows shot to the brim of his hat. 

“And has anyone been looking for him?” Balin nodded.

“Oh aye, Bofur, Ori and Nori have all been looking, along with the rest of us when we can, just to make sure the lad is alright you know, it’s not easy news to take for any of us but…you know how things are. I’m afraid the hobbit may think himself still an outsider to our group and doesn’t wish to intrude on things as always seems to be the case. Well, what he thinks is the case, but most certainly is not.” 

“Yes…Bilbo does tend to count himself less important than he ought.” The wizard agreed with a nod but his mind seemed to be somewhere else entirely, staring off into space and speaking as if to himself. 

“Indeed.” The white haired dwarf nodded, giving his much taller friend a questioning look. 

“I must speak with Bilbo.” Gandalf’s voice was quiet but vehement and without warning he moved for the door.

“Well now wait a moment! What about the lads?” Oin shot as he went rushing past. He did not offer answer, simply waving a hand in dismissal. “What does Bilbo have to do with this?!” He nearly shouted as both dwarves rounded the corner of the room, Balin shutting the door behind them.

“I must speak with the hobbit!” Was the only reply as the wizard continued rushing down the corridors leaving Oin and Balin to watch on in frustration.

***

What _did_ Bilbo have to do with all that was going on?

That’s exactly what Gandalf wanted to know. 

Such a strange feeling it was, that emanated from the bodies of the dwarves. Magic took many forms when looked upon by an experienced wielder. Depending upon the person who cast such sorcery, it might appear bright and clear, with sharp edges and an immovable presence, encasing whatever it was cast upon, or it could be dark and thick, almost soaking into what it was binding, but this was not as others he had seen. It was like an ever shifting mass, at once a mist and a solid form, with arms that twisted themselves through its subjects, as if bound to their very cores, as magic might be bound in the wielder himself. It did not stop moving, and it seemed to stretch in all directions unendingly as if reaching out towards other, unknown beings. 

The sorcery seemed to have a life of its own and the maia thought whoever cast such a spell either had much more power than they were accustomed to wielding, or they had not realized what was happening at all. There were times long ago when more magical beings walked Middle-Earth that he had seen such things. There were some who’s magic almost seemed to bleed out, slowly seeping into those who spent very much time with them.   
He wondered though why he had never noticed it before…if it was such a powerful magic as to keep one from dying it would seem as though it should be obvious. Of course the most powerful sorcery often had many characteristics, being undetectable when not in use did not seem so very farfetched…and of course he may not have realized it was magic before, but there was a very familiar feel to it. It almost seemed…green, a fresh and earthy quality to it. 

It reminded him oddly of hobbits…and one in particular. 

It seemed rather outrageous, ridiculous even, that the power keeping the three dwarves from leaving them all completely might, in fact, be Bilbo himself. But the more he learned the more Gandalf was sure he at least had something to do with all of it, his missing status did nothing to relieve the suspicion either. 

In his haste to exist the castle the wizard almost bowled over young Ori who stood in one of the entrances, staring out at the land before the mountain. 

“Ah, Gandalf!” the young dwarf scooted back away from the door just in time, staring up at the wizard. “You’re back!”

“Ori! So sorry, I did not see you there.”

“That’s alright, I’m fine.” The strained smile he offered did not seem to agree but the maia made no comment. “I’m so glad to see you! Have you spoken with Oin?” There is a hesitant hope in the dwarf’s eyes and the wizard wishes he could give much longed for news, but he smiles instead and nods.

“I did, I am aware of the situation, and I am much in need of our burglar, if you have any inkling of his current whereabouts.” Ori blinked in surprise and frowned.

“I-I’ve been looking everywhere but I haven’t been able to find him.” He gave a small shrug and glanced down to the stone at his feet, disappointment clear on his face. Gandalf felt a pang of sadness in his chest for the young dwarf next to him, whom was still so very innocent before all of this. Losing two close friends in such a violent battle, as well as a steadfast leader was enough to shake anyone’s world, let alone one so young. “Can you…can you do anything for them?” His voice was quiet as he glanced up at the wizard. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

“That has yet to be seen my lad, I very much need to speak with Bilbo.” Ori furrowed his brow in confusion but nodded, looking back out across the land still strewn with large tents and small fires, large groups of men and elves milling about. 

“I miss them.” The words were so hushed Gandalf thought for a moment he might have imagined them. The silence that followed ached to be filled but the wizard could not think of a thing to offer. “I’ve never had many friends you know.” He swallowed thickly and gave a shuddering sigh. “Fili and Kili were always nice to me, even though we don’t have that much in common. Or…didn’t…On the quest, they were-” the dwarf stopped abruptly and shook his head.

“We’ve searched the whole palace Gandalf, Bilbo isn’t here. Nori checked with Thranduil and Bard as well, they haven’t seen him…sorry to keep you.” 

“Don’t be, my lad,” He placed an old and gnarled hand on the young dwarf’s shoulder, and squeezed with a surprisingly strong grip. “Do not lose heart, all is not lost quite yet.” Ori nodded and gave a watery smile to his much taller friend, swiping a hand over his face. “I have an idea of where the hobbit will be found, I assure you he hasn’t gone far, but as you have well learned, when a hobbit wishes to remain unseen they can be all but impossible to find.” 

“Tell him he shouldn’t be hiding, when you find him. We’re all worried, and he shouldn’t be alone…”

“Yes of course, now why don’t you go inside, I’m sure your oldest brother is fussing about, aggravating everyone around him without you there to shield them all from the worst of it.” The comment earned him a small laugh and an honest smile, which he was glad for, as the dwarf turned and went back inside. 

With a heavier heart Gandalf began his search, exiting the mountain, he marched to where the camps of the men and elves began and then turned right, moving along the border of the castle, scanning the landscape as he went. There was not much greenery to be seen in or around Erebor and Gandalf had no doubt that if he could find it, Bilbo would not be far. 

In the end his search did not take very long, though he understood how the dwarves had not been successful, as the small copse of trees and bushes that he came upon was almost hidden, if you were not very close, by a large outcropping of stone from the side of the mountain. They were very small trees, more like bushes really, but for a hobbit they were quite large enough to shield one from view. 

As miffed as the wizard was at Bilbo’s behavior, running off and hiding in the midst of such a situation, his heart grew soft when he breached the edge of the miniature forest and found him curled up at the base of a tree, fast asleep and shivering. The nudge he gave with the end of his staff was much gentler than he might otherwise have given, and it took him several tries before the hobbit startled awake with a tiny snort. 

“What-what-….” Curly hair flopped from side to side as the hobbit swung his head back and forth, looking for some unknown danger, before he finally looked up, peering at the wizard with tired eyes. “Gandalf…”

“Bilbo.”

“What-How, did you find me here?” Rubbing his eyes harshly the hobbit sat up and stretched a bit, cracking his back and cringing at his sore muscles. 

“It was not so difficult, though dwarves have a hard time remembering that not everyone enjoys stone so much as them.” Bilbo nodded although he did not look to be paying very close attention. He stared at the grass and ran a small hand along it.

“They’ve been looking for me then?” The words were quiet and subdued, and the wizard had no doubt he already knew the answer to that question.

“Indeed they have, and are all quite worried about you. They fear you have gone missing because you do not wish to intrude where you do not belong.” At this the maia leveled his burglar with a very pointed stare. “I do hope that you are not so blind still as to think you are not as much a member of that company as any of the others. In fact I imagine they all feel rather indebted to you.” Bilbo snorted slightly.

“Indebted? I certainly hope not……” With a small grunt the hobbit heaved himself into a standing position and stretched his arms back, staring at the sky for a moment as he dropped them back down. “No Gandalf…that is not why I disappeared.” The words were soft and full of unspoken meaning. “I am sorry to have worried them, I wasn’t thinking so clearly when I left the other night and…it has been hard to think of going back.” 

“I understand Bilbo, the situation is certainly not a simple one, I do really think you should come back now though, and perhaps we can speak on why it is that you disappeared the other night, hm?” the glance the wizard received for that comment was a wary one, full of a pain Gandalf had never before seen on the hobbit’s face and once again he wondered what it was Bilbo had to do with this strange sorcery.

“Perhaps you can tell me why you disappeared first.” A scowl spread across the hobbits face and there was spite in his voice. While the wizard would normally become irritable at others thinking their problems were the only ones he was obligated to address, he did not respond in kind. This was a delicate situation after all and he did rather regret leaving at such an inopportune time. 

“Ah yes, I am sorry about that, you must remember my life is very complicated Bilbo, as much as it seems like all I ever do is meddle in the business of others, I have many obligations, and many of them are extremely important and rather time sensitive. I am here now though, and perhaps we should leave it at that.” Bilbo’s scowl did not completely disappear but it did abate as he heaved a sigh and nodded.

“I suppose so. Lead on then.” He motioned towards the camps and stuffed his hands in his pockets, waiting to follow his old friend forward.

***

The air was cold, and Thorin wrapped his thick coat around himself more tightly than before, rubbing his hands together. There was no life around him as far as his eyes could see, but that wasn’t particularly far as he was in the middle of a valley and the horizon was probably only two miles away. He wandered on, just as he had the last three days, with no real goal in sight. There was a numbness about him that he could not seem to shake.   
The dark haired dwarf knew he should be wary, frightened even, of his surroundings but all he could bring himself to feel was regret. For what in particular he didn’t even know, there were too many things to count really. 

He absentmindedly wondered again if this was perhaps his punishment, that he was sent to spend an eternity searching, (for what, he didn’t know) in retribution for his grave mistakes. This certainly was not how he pictured the halls of waiting. 

The sun was setting but stopping was not something the former dwarf king even considered. There were too many images that flew behind his eyelids that he could not block out in sleep. Too many feelings that would never leave him in his dreams. The morning before he had woken with a scream on his lips, from watching his nephews each fall, separately, in the great battle they had faced. He knew it was just a dream, for he had not been there to see them at all and yet he wondered, for they had not been present to say goodbye to him when he had lane on his death bed…which he knew they would not have missed unless they were gravely injured and unconscious, or rather more seriously, dead. 

He had not been there to see them fall, but if he were truly dead as he had every suspicion was the case, who’s to say he could not be seeing it all in his dreams, getting a glimpse of the real world as he slept in this one?   
He would not dwell on it. The numbness was a welcome lack of feeling over the overwhelming guilt that would most surely drown him if the dwarf were to think on it more than a moment.

***

Where Gandalf thought Bilbo might volunteer the information he had asked about in normal circumstances, he did love to talk after all, the hobbit remained silent and strained and the wizard’s concern was only increased. If he was so reluctant to speak up, perhaps the maia could draw the information more subtly.

“I am very sorry for the loss of your friends Bilbo, but circumstances do seem a bit more complicated than that. Perhaps all is not lost.” The hobbits mouth thinned to a tiny straight line and it was a long while before he responded.

“False hope Gandalf, that is all this is.” 

“Ah yes, to dare to hope for something that seems impossible can sometimes be quite a battle. But Bilbo, I can honestly say I have never come in contact with such a sorcery before, but upon my inspection it has a strength I have not seen in magic in many centuries. There is cause to hope still.” 

“No Gandalf…there really isn’t.” the hobbit shook his head bitterly and grimaced, coming to a slow stop. “I don’t want to go back to them, please Gandalf, I cannot bear it. They all wish for the impossible.” The look of barely concealed anguish on the Halflings face brought the wizard to a stop. Though he did not often do so, he kneeled down before his friend and took one of his much smaller hands in his own.

“Bilbo, please tell me what has you so convinced, I do not think you should suffer alone.” 

He took a small, shuddering breath and swallowed. 

“Gandalf…this has happened to me before.” The wizard could not hide his shock at the statement and did his best to recover quickly as he plowed on. “When my parents d-died….this happened then too. I-I do not want to do this again.” 

“Bilbo my dear boy…it appears there is much about you I still do not know. Let’s go somewhere more comfortable perhaps, and we can discuss it.”

“There is truly nothing to discuss.” The hobbit’s eyes shone with unshed tears and his voice was barely audible, but Gandalf did not comment, having nothing he could say in return. Instead he patted his friend on the shoulder and squeezed gently as he stood, placing a hand between his companions shoulder blades and urging him forward.

**Author's Note:**

> pretty much everything having to do with Bilbo's fairy blood and fairies in general is made up by me, there is really no info on fairies in the Tolkien verse that I could find so I had my fun with it.


End file.
